Ian Ayres Poems

His mom’s client hurried naked from her room
Aroused, proof she’d been doing more than massage
Or massaging more than backs as if to confront
All the petty people brought up by petty people
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It’s all heartache
Until you let go
Then it becomes one
Continuous Now
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My revolver
So easy to get
Cocked in fist
On the way to the grave
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Dying TV sucks stars into a deep green void
& I'm reflected there, on my knees for nothing
nothing but this audience in my head
these front-row critics telling me I don't matter
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"The poet is a pariah, an anomaly."
~ Henry Miller
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It is 4: 13 a.m. I’ve awakened
On the brink of World War III
This pain in my gut could be cancer
Could be gas could be mass extinction
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